


Finis

by sellswordking



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:05:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellswordking/pseuds/sellswordking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori's final harried moments in Moria before being struck down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finis

Ori is sweating beneath the armor they put on him, for all the good that it’ll do. The drums are beneath his skin and shaking his bones, and they’re only instruments without sharp edges or power. The orcs are banging down the door, they are here. Balin is fresh in his tomb, and oh, Ori misses his friend; his king. He should never have come to Moria, none of them should have. Their numbers were not enough, their warriors overwhelmed by swarms of creatures vile and filthy and most of all innumerable. Ori had become a historian since the Battle of Five Armies, when he saw his leader and kin fall.

 

He was never meant for battle.

 

Their numbers in the tomb are small, mostly the wounded and weak, or well on their way to death. Ori writes quickly, because someone must know their story.

 

Ori does not want to remember poor Oin, ripped to pieces before his horrified eyes. But he writes it anyway because he must.

 

Someone will find this place and they _must_ know what happened; they must know that the last dwarves in Moria stood strong against their attackers even in the eye of certain death.

 

And perhaps . . . perhaps, if Ori dared dream, _Dwalin might find it_.

 

Ori stops writing, and feels ill at the thought of his love. They had been apart for years, not unheard of and nothing that couldn’t easily be handled by dwarves. Now . . . they will not meet again until Dwalin is . . .

 

“I’m sorry, Dwalin. I’m so so sorry.” He whispers.

 

Ori puts his quill back to the page, the ink is running out.

 

_The end comes soon. We hear the drums, drums in the deep._

A great crack echos in the tomb as the doors splinter and swing open. Ori’s quill trails off the page as he’s startled from his writing.

 

He stands, book in one hand, dagger in his other, and does not feel the searing pain of the arrows as they sink through his armor without even being hindered by the leathers. Ori’s mouth is wet with blood as he falls against the stone grave.

 

_They are coming_

 

The book falls in his lap, a record of their last stand. Ori’s final thought is left unfinished, lost to the wet ground beneath him, in a room haunted by blood and soon to be abandoned for decades. His flesh would rot and fall away, and cobwebs would form on his useless armor before anyone came to read of his death, chronicled by his own hand. They would never know his final thoughts.

  
  
_They are coming. I die here a hero, my Dwalin, like your brother did. We will be waiting for you._


End file.
